


Of Roommates and Nightmares

by icannotevenhhh



Category: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - Ransom Riggs
Genre: Angst, Crying, Enoch is a Hot Mess, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Crying, M/M, Nightmares, Really Really Gay, Regret, Swearing, probably a bit OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 22:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10817745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icannotevenhhh/pseuds/icannotevenhhh
Summary: After keeping Jacob from ending up in the crazy house, the peculiars decide to stay in the present for awhile. Problem is, with nine extra people, a couple of them have to double up. Unfortunately for Enoch, this means he has to share a living space with Horace for an undefined amount of time. Lucky him.





	Of Roommates and Nightmares

The sun was just beginning to set when Enoch flopped onto his bed, burying his face into the pillow that had been laid out for him about a month before. He grumbled, kicking off his grimy shoes. A few homunculi he had shaped in the past couple of days climbed down from the nightstand to see what was wrong. They dropped onto the cream-colored bedsheets like tiny paratroopers, stumbling and falling over upon landing. The little clay soldiers began tapping away at their creator, much to his annoyance. Why couldn't they just leave him alone for once? Enoch knew exactly why, but that didn't stop him from being annoyed. The homunculi were just curious—as curious as a tiny clay soldiers with no brains could possibly be, anyway—but Enoch was already in a terrible mood, and the prodding didn't help. 

For about a month now, the peculiars (or what was left of them) had been staying at the Portman...residence. Enoch thinks of it as a 'residence' because, well, it wasn't really much of a house or home. It was much too perfect for either. There were glossy magazines about birds and expensive future-y things littering every side table. The ceiling lights were painfully ornate, and every vaguely interesting room was off limits to 'messy young kids' like Enoch. The backyard was kept perfect and untouchable, and the basement was filled with junk and old furniture that couldn't be moved. No, this definitely wasn't a home. There was nothing homey about it. A home was comforting and familiar, a safe zone in which you spend all of your time. In this....place, Enoch felt completely out of his element. It was all too neat, all too perfect. Everything was odd and show-offy, like the Portmans were expecting important guests to be over at any moment. He couldn't wait to get out of this dump.

And if Enoch had to look at another headache-enducing piece of 'modern art', he'd upchuck this morning's breakfast. 

But despite all of this, the worst thing by far was the heat. Being in Florida meant miserable, smoldering heat, and Enoch despised every little drop of sunshine that shone. He hated hot weather, the heat makes his face all red in the most embarrassing way and he sweats a whole bunch. Sure, the weather in their loop was sunny and beautifully warm. But the loop had a breeze, and a beach, and so many other things that made the heat bearable. Thinking about it made Enoch wish he still had THAT weather, the sun and wind that he had so foolishly taken for granted. He had always thought the air was too hot, and that the kids who liked to play outside had something wrong with their head. That's why he would so often stay in the basement at the old house: it was cool, dry, and secluded. His own personal haven, to fill with as many jars as he pleased. (Stupid Mrs. Portman, not letting him keep any hearts in the ice box.)

...Enoch missed Cainholm. There was no doubting it. He felt uncomfortable in this strange new time, like he was a puzzle piece that just wouldn't fit into place. He was exhausted with life, and all of the surprises it brought along. Everything was just so unpleasant.

And, there was one other thing that Enoch wasn't entirely fond of:

"Stop grumbling like that, it's rather hard to concentrate with your noise."

.....his roommate, Horace Somnusson. Fashionista extraordinaire, real-life fortune teller, and (kind of) a pain in the ass.

Horace would complain about things that Enoch really, really doesn't care about. And frankly, it was annoying as hell. Don't get crumbs on your bed, Enoch. Don't leave your clothes out, Enoch. Don't torture your little dolls, Enoch. Blah, blah, BLAH.

Enoch looked up from his pillow to scowl at Horace, who was sketching something in a notepad from his bed across the room. He must be working on some sort of new outfit design. Horace had been doing this a lot recently. The modern world seemed to inspire him in such a way, that he was almost constantly scribbling in that glorified stack of paper. You'd never hear Enoch say it aloud, but...it was actually kind of endearing. The way Horace would turn something as simple as the patterns in the sky into a detailed and thoughtful masterpiece was so....well, he couldn't find the right words to describe how oddly wondrous it was. 

... And as infuriating Horace was at times, at others he was actually quite pleasant to have around. He had stitched new uniforms for Enoch's homunculi, which were promptly put to use and worn out. After that, Horace had even patched them up to be good as new! But even without the small gifts, Horace's company was welcome. He was quiet, and the silence that surrounded him was comfortable. He didn't disturb Enoch's belongings, or bother him to go do something, or make him get up at some ungodly hour in the morning. And as much as Enoch hated to admit it, he had grown to love the peculiars he had spent the majority of his life with. Horace was no exception.

The aforementioned prophetic dreamer hummed, lightly gnawing on the eraser of his pencil. He sketched a few more lines down on the paper, before changing his mind and erasing them again. He really wasn't doing anything else noteworthy, just drawing and erasing parts of his work. Not much to see of the sketch, either. Horace's notebook was angled in such a way that Enoch couldn't catch a glimpse of what he was drawing. Any efforts to do so were in vain. So, Enoch decided that staring at his roommate wasn't a good alternative to smashing his face into his pillow, and just plopped his head back down onto the soft plush. He stopped grumbling, though. He was too tired to argue, as he hadn't been comfortable enough to sleep for the past few nights. 

Enoch must have then drifted off to sleep, because a second later he wasn't where he last remembered being.

\---

It all started like a normal, happy day in the loop, only everything seemed brighter and softer all at once. There was Fiona in the garden, Claire and Olive making daisy chains in the grass, Millard reading a book from under the protective shade of a tree, and others were occasionally seen in glimpses through the windows of the house. Everything was just as it was before all of the unpleasantness began. Before Jacob arrived and Miss Peregrine had been kidnapped. There was even Abe and Victor, seen laughing and talking with one another as they strolled past an open window.

Enoch stood at the edge of the front lawn, taking his time to look around at everything. His feet were bare, he noticed, and the grass beneath them felt cool and soft. Enoch looked up. The air was crisp and clear, the sky a beautiful robin's-egg blue. Wisps of clouds could be seen here and there. He looked down. Small, colorful flowers dotted the lawn, like tiny stars on a rich green midnight sky. He closed his eyes and listened. Somewhere there was music playing, and the faintest sounds of sheep bleating and waves crashing onto the shore could be heard among the tranquility. 

Everything was perfect.

The dead-riser smiled softly to himself, exhaling through his nose and basking in the delicate serenity of everything. How he missed his loop. He missed the cool breeze that tousled his hair and the comforting warmth of the sun on his back. The air smelled salty, and fresh, and good. Enoch laughed, dropping down onto the dewy blades of grass beneath him. He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, just listening to the sounds of his friends—no, family—enjoying another lazy day in the wonderful place they called home. Everything was just right, exactly as Enoch remembered it. Too good to be true. But in that single moment, Enoch didn't care. He didn't care that he was dreaming, or that none of this could ever possibly become reality. He was just...relieved. Tired, and glad that he could at least pretend to be happy again. If only for a moment. 

Out of the blue, Enoch felt a drop of water on his face, then another, and another....rain? It must be. He sat up, squinting at the dark clouds that had suddenly formed in the sky. A cold wind blew by, and Enoch shivered. He could hear the faint droning of plane engines, ready to drop their lethal cargo onto the island. This meant only one thing: the loop was resetting. But how did it happen so quickly? Just a second ago, it was the middle of the afternoon—ah, whatever. He'll think about it later. For now, he'd better get inside. 

Enoch got up, ready to enter the house that he had lived in what seems like an eternity ago. Only, before he could take a step towards it, there was a blinding light and a deafening crash. All of the sounds around Enoch ceased and were immediately replaced with loud ringing in his ears. There was a blast, and he was knocked to the ground. Enoch shielded his face with his arms, curling away from the source of the sudden commotion. Time seemed to slow down, and Enoch swore he could feel his heart slow and then stop. When the light faded away, he cautiously turned to see what had happened.

Oh God.

Enoch took off sprinting towards the ruined house, sparks and ashes flying up and surrounding him. The trees crackled and popped around him as he dashed over the burning grass. The damage had been even worse than he remembered. Instead of only a few walls blown in, the bomb had almost completely decimated the house. All that was left of his home was a smoldering pile of rubbish, a scorched heap of brick and wood that could never be fit back together. Enoch dashed around pieces of broken brick and wood, ignoring the burns and splinters that now adorned his feet. Did his friends get caught in the collapse? He didn't see anyone outside, or anywhere else, for that matter. That only worsened Enoch's desperation, and he dove at the rubble. He began to dig, and dig, and dig, his palms turning a blistered pink and scratching his fingers on bits of brick until they bled.

The digging only stopped when he uncovered a single hand, only slightly bigger than his own. It wore a white silk glove that was singed at the edges and had quite a few loose seams. This hand could only belong to one person: Horace Somnusson. Fashionista extraordinaire. Enoch's eyes to teared up as he began to uncover more and more of the body, his bloody hands leaving splotches of red wherever they touched. He began to babble nonsense to nobody, hoping and praying with all of his being that Horace was still alive. When Enoch finally dug out his head, a wave of nausea washed over him and he was forced to look away. 

Horace's forehead was cut nearly right open, bloodying his face and hair. His nose was obviously broken, snapped out of place and disfigured so badly that it almost made him unrecognizable. Dirt and dust were encrusted in the folds of his clothes and smeared over his face. His monocle had smashed, burying tiny bits of broken glass into his eye. But by far the worst were Horace's legs: crushed beneath an immovable wooden beam. Blood stained Enoch's clothes as he took what he could of the body into his lap, cradling his friend as he began to shake and sob. Hot tears streamed down Enoch's cheeks, and he sniffled. 

"....Horace...?"

Enoch choked on his words, swallowing them back down before they were even said. It was just too much for him to take in, he was hysterical. He felt his entire world crumble around him as his tears fell onto the once perfect black suit of his friend. Horace wasn't going to answer him. His breathing had ceased before Enoch even began to dig. If Horace was dead, crushed, then what had become of everyone else? 

Everyone that he cares about.

...They're all dead too, aren't they?

Enoch imagined the other wards of Miss Peregrine doomed to the same fate, crushed beneath the very same ceiling that had been their sanctuary for decades. He began to cry even harder.

A part of Enoch's mind tried to be reasonable. It was just a dream, nothing he saw was real. Horace was okay, and so was everyone else. They were safe. No more loops, no more bombed houses to collapse on top of them. They survived the wights, they survived the hollows, and they survived Caul. There was nothing else out there that could hurt them. 

But the rest of Enoch's mind and heart felt otherwise, drowning out logic in a sea of broiling emotion. Enoch wailed and screamed, crying out to whatever would listen. He shook Horace, pleading for him to just wake up. He felt betrayed by the world. Damn this loop! Damn those fucking bombs, damn the wights, damn the soldiers, damn EVERYTHING for doing this to his family. 

Enoch finally silenced when his voice gave out, and he could yell no more. His throat felt scratchy and raw, the perfect feeling to match his pulsing and bleeding hands. But Enoch ignored the pain. He didn't care about it. He just quietly choked on his tears, curling into the bloody, mangled mess of the person he held in his arms.

\---

Enoch awoke with a start, drenched in sweat and shaking like a leaf. His face was wet, he must have been crying in his sleep. Enoch struggled to catch his breath, sitting up and looking about the room. It was dark, the sun must have set while he was asleep. Rain could be heard pattering the windows and roof, and the shadows cast by raindrops danced across the walls and floor. 

 

Enoch cried as quietly as he could, shallowly breathing and bringing his knees up to his chest. He stared down at his shaking hands, replaying the horrific dream over and over in his head. Then, all of a sudden, Enoch felt an arm wrap around his shoulders and squeeze tightly. He turned to see Horace, seated next to him and looking down at him in worry.

"You were having a nightmare."

Enoch wanted to be mad at him. He wanted to say that Horace was being intrusive, or to yell at him, or to tell him to go away. But Enoch found himself leaning into the dreamer's side, softly shaking and offering no resistance. He sniffled and snorted, trying to hide his tears, but it was obvious that he had been crying. There was no backing out of this one, and for once, he didn't mind at all. Horace comfortingly rubbed small circles into Enoch's back, and soon Enoch found himself tightly embracing him. After what he had just seen, what he had just felt...he couldn't afford to be angry. He just wanted assurance that Horace was okay, and not dead, not crushed underneath the ruins of what once was a place of happiness. 

Horace whispered small, comforting nothings as Enoch buried his face into the boy's shoulder and cried. The dead-riser felt hot tears cascade down his face, and he began to sob even louder. 

"I- you were-" His croaking attempts to speak were quickly hushed by Horace, who interrupted with a simple:

"I know."

Horace continued to hold and comfort Enoch, mumbling hushed reassurances as the rain hammered outside. After a while, Enoch's crying began to lessen. It was just barely enough to allow him to speak without choking, so he lifted his head and looked up at Horace.

"Why're..." He sniffled, wiping his nose and trying his best to compose himself. "...why're you doing all this?" Horace paused for a beat, contemplating his answer.

"Because I know how it feels to be scared."

Enoch instantly knew what he meant. Horace had nightmares and visions all of the time, most definitely worlds worse than the one he had just dreamt up. Of course Horace would understand. Enoch nodded, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. 

"Thanks." It felt...nice, to be held by Horace like this. It was nice to know he was cared for. His feeling of dread drained away, and he took in a single, shaky breath. His tears stopped completely as his heartbeat began to speed up ever so slightly. Enoch leaned his head back onto Horace's shoulder, and felt the dreamer's fingers lightly trail through his hair. He wasn't wearing his gloves, and his fingertips felt gentle and comforting. Enoch felt calm, and loved, and good. The rain outside provided soothing background noise, and the dark of the room encapsulated the two in a blanket of fragile tranquility. Everything was quiet and soft as Horace began to quietly hum the loose melody of a song. Enoch felt his chest grow warm and fuzzy, as if his heart wanted to sing with him.

And just like that, Enoch was very acutely aware of how closely cuddled together he and Horace were. He felt his face redden, and he hugged Horace even tighter than before. Enoch hated his heart for making him feel things. Things that made him want to hold onto the gentleman forever, to kiss him and keep him in a jar all for himself. He hadn't ever felt like this about anyone before—or, at least not for a very long time. These feelings weren't necessarily a bad thing, though. Especially if Horace felt the same way.

Which was very unlikely, but still pleasant to imagine.

Enoch thought back at all of his memories of Horace. Were the butterflies in his stomach really all that new? He thought about how he would tease Horace constantly, and wondered if it was because he truly thought the dreamer was cowardly. No, it wasn't that. It was never about cowardice, or any flaws the boy had. In fact, Enoch thought of Horace to be very brave. He had stood up to a wight and had saved Jacob's life at least twice, which was more than he had ever done. Maybe the teasing was only Enoch denying the way he felt about the boy in the fancy suit. Maybe these blossoming, beautiful feelings had been building up for awhile, and only needed the tiniest push to spill over the top of his heart. 

Enoch yawned. He really did need some sleep. His eyelids, puffy and red from crying, seemed to gravitate towards each other as he fought to stay awake. Horace's enticing body heat and intoxicating lavender-y scent weren't helping much, but Enoch didn't want to let him go. Luckily, Horace quickly caught on to Enoch's sleep-deprived state. 

"Would you like for me to spend the night with you?" 

Enoch drowsily nodded, yawning for a second time. Horace laid them both down and pulled the blankets up, drawing Enoch close. The dead-riser clung to the dreamer, nuzzling his face into his chest and even going so far as to wrap a leg around his hips. Not that Horace seemed to mind. In fact, Horace seemed to enjoy being aggressively cuddled by Enoch. He just cuddled back, sighing happily. The environment was still and fragile, as if the slightest wrong movement could shatter everything. 

Enoch loved every second of it. 

Over the constant noise of the rain Enoch could hear Horace's heart, a softly beating drum that lulled him into a state of quiet contentedness. Horace began to run his fingers through Enoch's hair again, and Enoch softly hummed. The two stayed still, apart from their breathing. After awhile, Enoch yawned for the third time and settled down, breathing in a lungful of that wonderful lavender scent he loved so much. He was just beginning to softly snore when he felt the gentlest, most cautious of kisses on the very top of his head. And Enoch smiled, ever so slightly, before falling into a blissful, nightmare-free sleep.

\---

Birds from beyond the walls sang a morning song to start off the day. Miss Peregrine stopped in front of the bedroom door of two of her wards, bracing herself for the groaning and complaints that would surely follow her entry. Miss Peregrine cracked open the door as quietly as she could, frowning when it creaked in its hinges. Sunlight shone into the room from a window, the rain having stopped long ago. She glanced into the bedroom, hoping to see if Enoch and Horace were awake. A small, affectionate smile graced her face when she saw them. The two boys were tangled up together and dead asleep, both softly smiling. Miss Peregrine turned away, glancing back at them once more before closing the door and turning into the hall. She could let the two of them sleep in. Just this once. The Bird then hobbled away, heading down the hall to wake up the rest of her wards.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not entirely happy with this but whatever (:


End file.
